And fishing there (and catching none)
I dreamt, that she might still be mine:
For, dressed in Doudney’s light gambroon,
I could not deem myself a spoon.
Fill high the glass with ginger wine!—
We will not think on this here theme;
Nor for the charming Widow pine;
Others may yet more charming seem.
More charming? Ah, it cannot be—
Her equal never made the tea!